Secrets (Sherlock)

Blind banker

 Quintessa POV

I sat in an old friend of mine, Sebastian’s, office. I had been waiting 4 minutes and 37 seconds, when he finally walks in.

“Ahh, Sebastian,” I say, not genuinely happy to see him. Last times he and I were in a pretty big argument, and it may, or may not, have ended with someone having a broken nose. And I have NEVER had a nose job. ”Nice to see that nose healed nicely.”

“Lovely to see you too, Quintessa. It has been too long. I am having another old buddies of mine, from Uni, come and help with the investigation. I will fill you in on the details when he gets here.”

Almost on queue, Sherlock and John walk in the front door.

“Sherlock Holmes,” he says.

“Sebastian.”

“Howdy, buddy. How long has it been? Eight years since I lasted clapped eyes on you?” Sebastian said.

“It’s been a decade for us, bud,” I say, my words dripping with sarcasm and I walk over to shake hands with John. “It’s nice to see you again John. Sherlock.”

There is a moment of silence; in it I deduce that John has had quite an annoying morning, probably getting into an argument with someone this morning, but not Sherlock. I wonder who that could be?

I tuned out of their conversation, picking up certain things like Uni, ketchup, travelling, and those sorts of things. But, the entire time, I was looking at Sherlock. I picked up part of the conversation, and Sebastian was saying how they hated Sherlock in College. I noticed his face fill up with pain. But, it left as quickly as it came.

“Why don’t you tell me why you insisted on bringing me here. I just bought a car, and saw a very old friend, so I had been having a good day. So, do try to make this worth while, Sebastian,” I said, earning a stare from all three. Just moments ago I had been a happy, energetic me. But, the pain I saw in Sherlock was all too familiar to me. I was sick of that pain. Sick of it.

“We’ve had a break-in,” he Sais bluntly.

“Why bring me here for a simple break-in? You could have had these two, but no. You just had to bring me into this.”

“You just have to wait and see.”

We follow him down the hallways, I notice we don’t walk far, and when we make it to our designation, he says something about a memorial for the previous chairmen, and then swipes a security card against the panel by the door.

I look into the office, and immediately take note of the scene. There is a painting of a man, probably the previous chairmen behind the desk in front of me. There is a stripe of yellow paint over his eyes, blinding him. Next to the painting, there’s an odd symbol painted in the same yellow graffiti. I took a long glance at the graffiti, trying to recognize it.

“I feel like I have seen this before,” I mumbled. I know I had seen this before, but I just couldn’t remember. But I never forget anything. Ever. So, this was quite worrying. I turned around, and looked at Sherlock for a minute, not really doing anything. Just thinking.

“Quintessa?” he asked. I snapped out of my trance.

“Yeah, yeah, right. I just, I feel like I have seen that symbol before. But- but I can’t remember. I have a photographic memory, but I just can’t remember.”

I stared at the symbol, trying to my look of horror, and replace it with one of confusion. But, it really just came out as fear. I continued to stare at it, not remembering, not realizing. I could feel the memory, right in the back of my mind, but I just couldn’t reach out to it.

“Show me the camera footage,” I say, leaving the office. A few minutes later, we all stand in front of a computer, watching the camera footage from 23:34:01-23:33:01.

“Sixty seconds apart.” Sebastian flicks between the two clips. One has a clean wall and painting, the other has the graffiti on the office. “So, someone came up here in the middle of the night, then left within a minute.

“How many ways into that office,” Sherlock asked, his face scanning over the screen, showing no signs of emotion.

“Well, that’s where this gets really interesting. Every door that opens in this bank, it gets logged right here. Every walk-in cupboard, very toilet.”

“Let me guess. The doors didn’t open last night,” I said, Sebastian nodding.

“There’s a hole in our security. Find it and we’ll pay you- five figures each.”

I scoffed. “Please. I don’t need money, Sebastian. I thought you would understand that by the way you acted the last time we met.”

I turn and walk away, quickly being followed by Sherlock. He probably declined, but still left John to take the cheque. I walk into the office, and snap a photo of the painting and graffiti, still having this feeling that I have seen it before. Several photos later, and a very awkward silence later, I decide to talk to Sherlock.

“Hey, Sherlock,” I say, tapping his shoulder slightly. He averts his gaze from the painting and to me. “So, um, I need to ask you for some advice. A friend says that you know exactly what to when you’re bored. I, um, abuse my wall when I am bored. I doubt my landlady appreciates that. Do you have any ideas at how I can avert my attention from that?”

I catch what I think looks like a smile, but it quickly disappears. He obviously doesn’t like showing any sort of emotion. Is it uncomfortable? Yeah, I think so. Hmm, that has been well noted. He looks at me for what seems like forever, but answers nonetheless.

“Try working on cases, like this. They stimulate my brain enough to stop me from shooting at my wall. Maybe they can stop you too.”

“Actually, I throw knives. Well, knives and plates. And cups occasionally. A while back I practically threw my entire cabinet at the wall when…” I trailed off. That was the night. That awful night where my soul was ripped in half. When the person I love the most left. That night was the night I resolved to stop the stupid charade, and be exactly what I have to be. A robot; smart, emotionless.

“Well, we best get going on the case. But, ooh. Look.” I walk over to the window, and look out at the Gherkin building across the block. I walk out onto the balcony, and take in the view. I walk to the edge, and take a look at the drop. I whimper inside when I see how far down it is. I gulp, and make my way back in, plastering a smile on my face so Sherlock doesn’t suspect anything. I know he can see right through it, but he doesn’t say anything. Normally, I am so confident, and no one can read my lies. But, lately, I have had so much happen, Jim, my memory, and the drop. It brings back the memory of that night. That awful crunch, and that feeling as I saw him.

Stupid memory.